


Black Cab

by wrote_and_writ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: Draco gets a taste of real magic one summer afternoon in London.





	Black Cab

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompting, LowerEastSide <3

Draco had been fifteen for six weeks, and every moment needled him. If he wasn’t trying to stay out of the way of his father’s two moods -- rage at Potter’s escape and abject terror that the Dark Lord would find fault with the Malfoys’ efforts to advance the cause -- he was subjected to his mother’s quiet grooming in the ways a pureblood wizard ought to present himself in society: cool, composed, elegant, superior to all he met. This, too, was a kind of fear, and Draco was tired of swimming in it.

Today, he was a prisoner of his mother’s fears. They left the manor shortly after breakfast and went to London for the day. Robe fittings -- _You’ve lost so much weight,_ she lamented while ignoring the bruise-purple shadows under his eyes, _they’ll think we neglect you, darling._ Tea at the restaurant of the Knotted Oak Hotel.

Tea at the Knotted Oak was served in a private booth, of course, heavy velvet drapes obscuring the occupants from prying eyes. Narcissa cast a quick _muffliato_ and looked at Draco with a haunted expression. 

“Draco, love, do you have your coin purse?” Draco reached for his waistcoat pocket, but Narcissa held out a hand. “That’s alright, darling. Do you have enough money to occupy yourself for the afternoon? I have an … appointment.”

“Of course, Mother,” Draco replied, ignoring the knife of fear he felt pressing between his shoulder blades. In addition to several dozen galleons, he had a Muggle credit card. His mother gave it to him a week before. He had never seen her so agitated, nor did he care for the naked relief that lit her face when he accepted it and listened to her explain how to use it.

“For emergencies,” she told him, fear creeping up in her voice.

“Good, good,” she said absently. “I want you to meet me back here at, oh, four or five? You’ll need to keep a low profile.”

“Mother,” Draco said, “I don’t understand.”

Narcissa hushed him with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to call you a cab, dear. I suggest you take some time to explore. The British Museum has a fascinating exhibit on early Roman Britain.”

“You want me to go to a Muggle museum?”

“Just for an afternoon, darling.” Her tone brooked no arguments, though Draco strongly desired to object.

“Of course.”

Narcissa paid their bill and ushered him out of Diagon Alley to the busy streets around Charing Cross Station. . She hailed the cab with expert efficiency, leaving Draco flummoxed. He had begun to suspect over the summer that his mother was making plans of which his father was unaware, but this, and the credit card, was proof.

Narcissa gave the cabbie instructions to take Draco to the British Museum. She handed Draco a wad of Muggle cash and a folded paper. “Enchanted map,” she whispered. “Have a good time, my darling. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She kissed his cheek and bade the cabbie to go.

Draco had never been in a car before, and the exhilaration of it, illicit and wonderful, blocked out his fear and worry. For seven glorious minutes, Draco felt a renewed joy in magic. Certainly Muggles _must_ think this was magic.Too soon, the car pulled up in front of the imposing British Museum.

“Ten quid, mate.”

Draco gaped at the man for a moment before he remembered the money his mother gave him. He didn’t have a paper with a ten on it, but he had several with twenty. He handed one to the man and began to exit the cab.

“Your change!”

“Keep it,” Draco replied, hoping his ignorance wasn’t too obvious.

“And a very good day to you, young man,” the cabbie grinned.

Draco smiled weakly back, exited the cab, and joined the crowds of tourists around the museum. He should go in, find a place where he could sit, out of the way, until it was time to meet up with his mother, but the crush of people gave him little hope of finding peace in the museum.

He took of at random, into a cloudy afternoon that threatened rain. He walked aimlessly, stopping occasionally to peer into Muggle shops. When he happened on a bookstore, he went in and was immediately accosted by a beautiful girl not much older than himself. 

“Hi! Can I help you find something?” Her hopeful smile caused a flutter of panic. He’d seen smiles like that before from girls at school, most recently Astoria Greengrass, a girl two years his junior at Hogwarts, looks he was beginning to accept that he couldn’t honestly return.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Draco said, manners saving him at last. The girl looked crestfallen, but she left him alone. 

Draco wandered the stacks. He wanted to buy something, but he had no idea what. A history book, perhaps, but he knew what his father’s reaction would be if he found that among Draco’s belongings. And he knew that his father, delving deeper into paranoia, would look. 

A section of books with handsome leather bindings caught Draco’s eye. He traced a long, pale finger along the spines. They looked similar to his magic books. Maybe he could work a charm on the title. Maybe-- “Looking for anyone in particular?”

Draco was about to send the intruder away, but his voice stuck when he saw the handsome young man standing beside him. 

He was practically Draco’s opposite -- a compact young man somewhere near his own age, possibly a bit older. Tightly curled black hair, smooth skin dark as mahogany, liquid black eyes, open smile. The name tag on his shirt proclaimed him to be “Leo -- I am here to help!”

Draco swallowed hard. “Suggestions?”

Leo grinned and handed him a book with scarlet leather binding. “Hands down, Wilde is my favorite.”

“Oh?” Draco caressed the cover and embossed title. “I’ve not read this.”

“Never? Oh, then you are in for a treat.”

Draco quaked. There was something underneath the boy’s words, something that sparked a resonance in Draco.

“What else do you recommend?”

“Why don’t you read the Wilde first. Maybe we could get a coffee when you’re done, and you can tell me what you think. Then I could give you more specific recommendations.”

“Oh, erm, I don’t know,” Draco stammered. “I think, I mean, it might take me awhile to read this.”

“That’s too bad,” the boy said, his mouth pulled down in an appealing pout. “I’m off work in ten. Would you like to get a coffee then? Maybe if I got to know you, I could recommend something more personal.”

Draco searched Leo’s face for any hint of mocking, disdain, or greed -- the way most people looked at him -- and found only interest and … kindness? It had been a long time since he’d seen any of that. 

“I’d like that.” Draco paid for his book and waited out front for Leo.

“I know a cozy place just up the road. Shall we go?”

Draco nodded. His heart was beating too hard for him to speak. They walked a couple blocks and stopped outside an apartment building. 

“Where is the cafe?”

Leo gave him a hopeful smile. “This is my flat, actually. My mum’s out for the afternoon. I could make you a cup of tea.” He held up a hand when he caught Draco’s expression. “Or we could go up the road another block. There’s a Costa, lots of people, brightly lit. I don’t want you to --”

“A cup of tea would be lovely,” Draco said. 

The flat Leo shared with his mother was simple, neatly kept, and so far from anything Draco had experienced that it might as well have been a fantasy world. He sat on the sofa while Leo fussed with the tea in the kitchen. It wasn’t the best cup of tea he’d ever had, but it did what tea should do, calmed him, gave him something to do with his hands while he and Leo talked. Hours could have passed, or days, Draco was never able to remember. But time stood still when Leo leaned in for a kiss.

Draco had kissed people before, girls before, but this was something altogether new. It woke something wild in him. Leo must have had his eyes open, because he pulled back almost immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I should have asked. I didn’t think.”

“No, it was, it’s fine,” Draco said. “You just surprised me.”

“You’re beautiful,” Leo said. 

“Thank you?”

Leo laughed, breaking the tension. He got up and opened Draco’s book, penning something inside. “My phone number,” he said helpfully.

“Oh, I, erm, I don’t know. I…”

“No pressure.”

Draco took the book and traced his fingers over the digits inked onto the page. “Look,” he said, “if I don’t call, it’s not you. I’m heading back to school soon, and it’s, well, it’s remote.”

“Boarding school?” 

“Yes. It’s very … old fashioned.”

Leo nodded. “Sure. I get it.” He looked crestfallen. Draco pulled Leo down beside him on the couch.

“You really do not,” he said fervently. “My parents are--”

“Is it my gender or my skin color? Or both?”

“None of that,” Draco said, because that was probably true. “They have plans for me, and I’m not sure how I can get out of them.”

“Fair enough,” Leo said. “And I guess we did just meet. But seriously, if you get the chance, call me, yeah?”

“I would really like that.” Draco signed. “I should go. I have to meet my mother soon.”

“Could I kiss you again? Something to remember me by?”

Draco gave him a genuine smile. “I’m not likely to forget this,” he said, “but yes please.”

Leo put a hand behind Draco’s head and pulled him close. Draco tried to keep his eyes open, to memorize this moment, but he lost himself in sensation. When Leo finally pulled back, breathless, Draco thought he saw stars. 

“Can I walk you to the tube?” Leo said as Draco smoothed his hair back into place. 

“I was planning to take a cab,” he said. “The, uh, tube is a bit much for me.”

“I’ll ring a cab for you,” Leo said. 

Wizards really needed to get on the phone thing, Draco thought as Leo made the arrangements. Owls are noble and traditional, but to hear Leo’s voice when he was back at school. That would really be magical. But real magic, Draco was beginning to realize, was not in his stars. Spells, power, greed, and hunger, those weren’t real magic. A boy in a bookstore. A car ride through a bustling city. A phone number in book of poems. This was the magic Draco wanted. He allowed himself twenty minutes, the length of the taxi ride from Leo’s flat to Charing Cross Station in the early evening traffic, to imagine he might have it. He put it away when he saw his mother waiting for him. He left the book in the cab. He went home.


End file.
